


Returned

by Redlance



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 19:30:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16816993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redlance/pseuds/Redlance
Summary: They say that love is an unbreakable bond, an entangling of souls that can defy all logic. A tether that not even death can tear.Turns out they were right.





	Returned

**Author's Note:**

> First posted for a prompt on my Patreon a few months ago! Feel free to check me out over there under Redlance. :)

* * *

They say that love can transcend all things. That it can overcome war and hate, and reach into the darkest depths of humanity to shine a light on the chaos. 

They say that love can build bridges, strong and sturdy enough to carry the weight of entire nations on its back. Joining families and friends. 

They say that love is an unbreakable bond, an entangling of souls that can defy all logic. A tether that not even death can tear.

Turns out they were right. 

Chloe’s a mess after it happens. One headline had read: Drunk Driver Hits Pedestrian, another: Rising Music Star Killed. It was all about perspective in the end, how people had seen her. If Chloe had been in charge, the headline would have been: Love Of My Life Has Light Senselessly Snuffed Out. 

She lies in bed for days, doesn’t answer calls or texts, barely eats. When she’s awake she thinks about her and when she sleeps Beca is all she sees, in various states of turmoil that all end in the same way. 

Beca Mitchell is dead and Chloe doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to breathe properly again.

Aubrey steps in, with uncharacteristically gentle methods, and bit by bit she coerces Chloe out from under the covers. Then into a sitting position and, eventually, out of bed. The funeral had come and gone and Chloe hadn’t been present. She didn’t care if people didn’t understand; they didn’t know how this felt. Everyone loses someone, but each experience is unique, and Chloe’s loss had taken her life apart at the seams. 

Aubrey helps, says little about loss and death and her opinions on it, and Chloe is thankful for that. She cooks Chloe dinner and makes sure she eats it. Makes sure she takes showers and brushes her hair. Her presence is something Chloe will be immeasurably grateful for in time. 

It’s been six days since Beca was lowered into the ground and covered with freshly turned earth and Aubrey is out getting groceries when there’s a knock at the door. Begrudgingly, Chloe gets up to answer it, but only because she’s worried Aubrey might have forgotten her key. When she opens the door though, no one is there. She frowns, closing it, and that’s when she hears the knocking again. Her frown deepens as she realises that it’s the back door being thumped on. 

Slowly, Chloe makes her way through the house, listening to the occasional dull thud that demands her attention and when she reaches the back porch she sees the outline of a person beyond the frosted glass of the window. 

A short person. With dark hair. 

The thud sounds again and now Chloe can see that the person’s whole body moves with the sound of it. And she’s suddenly terrified, but she still keeps moving forward until her fingers are wrapped around the handle of the door and she’s close enough to hear a groan drift through the glass. 

And it’s crazy, she knows it is, but she’s heard that groan before. While watching awful auditions for various singing-focused reality T.V. shows or in the aftermath of a bad joke. She’d heard it first years ago, during Bella rehearsals, whenever Aubrey would open her mouth.

Heart hammering inside her chest, Chloe twists her wrist until the seal on the door is broken and then begins to open it. The person stumbles a little and Chloe realises they must have been leaning on the door. That  **she** must have been leaning on the door, because as more of the person comes into view, it becomes clear that it’s a woman. 

Her dark hair curtains her face and is peppered with the same dirt that covers her clothes. Clothes that Chloe recognises, because she’d picked them out. 

“Beca?” The names leaves her as a strangled sob and she wants to reach out, but she’s frozen in place. Dark hair sways with the slow lifting of a head, another low groan, and then Chloe is staring at something entirely impossible. 

It’s Beca. Her Beca. Searching lazily with eyes that have turned a light, milky-blue colour, so vastly different from the stormy blue that Chloe remembers and yet still undoubtedly Beca’s. 

It takes a while, longer than it should, but when those eyes finally land on Chloe, Beca’s now pale, sullen skin stretches over her cheekbones until she's smiling a smile that somehow still manages to shine like the sun. 

Chloe gasps, so certain that her heart stops, then her eyes roll into the back of her head and she collapses. 

When she comes to, the world is out of focus for a few seconds and it takes her a minute to realise that she’s lying on her back looking up at the ceiling of her house. It takes her another minute to try and figure out how and why she’s in this position. She hears a groan, realises it didn’t come from her own mouth, and turns her head to the side. 

Strange but familiar eyes stare back at her, unblinking, on the same level as hers and a startlingly short few inches away. Her knee-jerk reaction is to yelp or gasp, but she stays quiet. Just looking, suddenly understanding that Beca has laid down flat on the floor beside her. She can see Beca better at close range now, can see the imperfections that death has laid upon her skin and the grass stains on the blazer she’s wearing. The knowledge that she’d had to crawl out of her own grave hits Chloe like a whistle note, sending a shock throughout her entire body and bringing tears to her eyes. 

“Beca?” She repeats the name, desperate for confirmation beyond the visual. She watches as Beca’s arms move but take her nowhere, then as her head shifts around until her chin is pressed into the floor, and she opens parts dry, cracked lips. There’s dirt in her mouth and around her teeth, but Chloe barely notices it as scratchy, garbled sounds try to leave Beca in the shape of a name. 

“Cu- low,” she tries, her voice the sound of crushed gravel. “L… low-ee.” 

Tears spill free over Chloe's cheeks and she sits up, reaching out to carefully roll Beca over onto her back. 

“Hey, baby.” Her words are wet and broken, as she presses her palm to Beca's cold cheek. 

“Cu-low-ee.” 

And Chloe doesn't know how, but she doesn't care either.


End file.
